


in another world (I would get to keep you)

by Mizzy



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, M/M, Mosaic Timeline (The Magicians: A Life in the Day), Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: Eliot doesn't want to get up. Quentin has other plans.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	in another world (I would get to keep you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessalae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/gifts).



“Come on,” Quentin says, and Eliot shakes his head. It feels heavy in the dark. Like maybe it belongs to someone else. A sigh and a rustle of clothing is all the warning Eliot gets: suddenly, he’s drenched, and freezing.  
  
“The _fuck,_ Quentin?” Eliot splutters, his treacherous body forgetting he was attempting permanent human-burrito status, automatically launching him to his feet instead.  
  
“Coldwater’s my name _and_ my game,” Quentin says, and for a brief second Eliot kind of wants to strangle him, but that emotion doesn’t last long, and it’s obliterated by the warm, strong, capable hands that wrap around his forearm, tugging him outside.  
  
“Just let me be,” Eliot cajoles instead, because Quentin’s weak for his voice, he’s learned—Quentin goes pliant in the most interesting ways when asked for things, the boy has a kink for being needed and it’s _delightful_ —but Quentin’s also the most stubborn motherfucker (fatherfucker now, Eliot supposes, still dizzy every time he remembers the two of them have a son together, a whole-ass human being who loves and depends on them, Margo would— oh— no— but that hurts too much to think about) and he drags Eliot outside.  
  
Eliot blinks to adjust to that hazy, surreal light of their little puzzle grove, and when his vision decides to finally fucking play ball, he notices—so many things all at once. Pine cones strung together in streamers. A spread of food laid out on their favorite quilt. Flower petals carpeting the muddy ground. His throat feels thick. A party. Teddy’s going to be thrilled, when school is out and he comes home to this.  
  
That thought at least manages to inflate Eliot’s chest with a small hint of cheer, just imagining their son’s tiny face lighting up in joy at the sight. It’s almost enough to make him forget that Quentin soaked him in cold water (couldn’t his name have been Warmwater?) to get him to leave their bed.  
  
“Q—“ Eliot manages. Quentin has the softest smile on those pretty pink lips, and he removes his hands from Eliot’s arm, and he’s about to protest the lack of warmth when Quentin wraps one of his hands in Eliot’s, interlocking their fingers instead, and starts to tug at him again.  
  
Over to the damn mosaic.  
  
“I really don’t want to—“ Eliot starts, but fails to find the words. “Not today.”  
  
“I know,” Quentin’s voice is mild, kind in the way it can be, when no one else is watching. “I filled it in for you while you were... sleeping.”  
  
Sleeping is a kind word for sulking.  
  
“Then why—“ Eliot starts, but then he looks down at the tiles, and his heart stutters. Oh.  
  
“It’s not exact,” Quentin’s mumbling now, unsure of himself again, but that’s normal territory, which is soothing considering how dark and unsteady the world has been feeling today. “But I did my best.”  
  
“It’s perfect,” Eliot murmurs. “Although she’d disagree.”  
  
“She would,” Quentin half-laughs, half-sniffs. He squeezes Eliot’s hand tightly, a perfect anchor to this whole crazy quest. “I’ll get you back to her. Somehow.”  
  
He and Q, they don’t say the words _I love you,_ not here, and not yet. But those words sound exactly like that, and Eliot’s almost surprised to find that they’re not as terrifying to hear as he thought they might be.  
  
“I know you’ll try,” Eliot says. Margo’s face stares up at him from the blocky tiles of the mosaic. He’s not sure if Quentin will manage to get them home again, and there’s a sneaking thought that’s started to repeat in the back of his mind, that maybe—maybe with his son and his lover at his side—maybe he could one day be okay with that. But it’ll never stop him from missing her, every damn day.  
  
Somehow, Quentin’s managed to use a green tile and turn her expression into a smile, and it’s almost like she’s right there with him, cheering him on.  
  
Despite himself, Eliot finds himself smiling back down at her. “Happy birthday, Bambi,” he whispers.  
  
In the hazy light, through a tear that Eliot would deny ever shedding, he would almost swear mosaic Bambi winks at him.


End file.
